To whom it may concern
by Muggle-born Pureblood
Summary: Draco Malfoy is one of the countless dead Death Eaters in the wreckage after the war. Loyal to Voldemort tell the bitter end... Or so we thought! How will a nosey Harry Potter, and a letter question everything we thought we knew about Draco Malfoy. Warning: graphic descriptions of mutilated dead bodies, and insanity. Harry's POV.


The war is over now. Voldemort's dead. But why do I still feel like I'm being hunted. The great hall never looked so depressing. Bodies stacked on top of bodies. I knew some of them, and it pains me to see them gone. Some of them are just faces in the crowd. But most of them are just lucky to have faces. I walk by one boy, or at least I think it's a boy, to see his face has been ripped off his skull. Another girls eyeballs have been ripped out of her head, and one of them is still hanging out of its socket onto her cheek. The bodies have been sorted into five piles: the recognizable dead allies, the unrecognizable dead allies, the recognizable dead death eaters, the unrecognizable dead death eaters, and the bodies that had been so mutilated that you can't even tell which side they were on. I walk by the recognizable dead death eaters, and one catches my eye. He was barely able to put in this category. He had died and most grisly death, for his throat had been ripped out, and his face clawed. One of his eyes is missing, and someone took a knife and carved horrible smile on the death eaters face. They'd started at the corner of his mouth, and carved up his cheek, stopping at the top of his ears. His fore head is split open, and his clothes were both torn and burnt so that his arms and parts his chest were visible. His arms and chest didn't look much better than the rest of him. But despite all the blood and gore, it was obvious who he was. There was no mistaking that pale skin, white blond hair, and the one silvery blue eye he still had. It was Draco Malfoy. I don't know why I feel a pinch of sorrow for the pale death eater. Perhaps it's just sorrow that he didn't choose another path. He could've been great you know. I don't know why I bend down to look at him. I can barely stand the sight of him, and the sickening smell of blood and rotting flesh was almost strong enough to make me get up and pass the boy by. But then something catches my eye. There, carved into the boy's arm, is one word: traitor!

* * *

It's an old scar; it was done years ago. That was obvious, but by who was the question. I lean over the blonde's body, and put my hands on his chest to steady myself. And I feel something in his breast pocket. I slide a small piece of paper out from his torn and bloody clothes. It's a folded up piece of paper, with only one word on the outside: to whom it may concern. It doesn't concern me, but I read it anyway. I'm the only one who would anymore. His mother Narcissa, to whom I owe my life, was killed by Voldemort the second he realized I was still alive. His father Lucius however, was killed by George Weasley. Vengeance for his fallen twin. I'm the only one who would ever read it, no one else cared enough. So I guess it concerns me.

* * *

To whom it may concern.

My name is Draco Lucius Malfoy. I know it's stupid, but I'm keeping this in my pocket so you'll know who I am. This way you know who I am if I can't tell you myself. If I'm dead or worse. One thing you'll notice about me, if the dark mark branded on my arm. Let's get this straight right now, I didn't want it! I never wanted it! I'm not like those heartless death eaters! I'm not a death eater because I want to be! I'm a death eater because all my life my father beat death eater morals and to me. And I mean that literally! He trained me to use the dark arts, and even use them against me sometimes. And for when you're some clueless git who doesn't know what that means, my father used the cruciatus curse on me! On his own son! I'm also a death eater because if I didn't become a death eater, myself and my entire family would've been killed. I'm a death eater because I was forced to be, nothing more, nothing less.

I'm terrified, because I had one task. One simple task! And I failed, miserably! He's only keeping me alive to do his dirty work; torturing the people who oppose him. I'm smart enough to know that once things as they are change I'll be killed! I won't survive this war. I've been doing what I can secretly helped Potter's allies. I've let a few of them go under the guise of cowardice. But I'm still traitor to them, and won't be long before the dark Lord discovers my treachery as well. I won't live long, and when I die I want you to know the truth. My family says I've gotten more like my aunt Bellatrix every day. They don't know how right they are. I'm going mad! I started hearing voices two years ago; there are three now! One of them is a very nice lady named Wilhelmina. She comforts me when I have to torture people, or when I'm receiving the torture myself. She helped comfort me when I failed at my one simple task. Then there's a five-year-old boy named Johnny. He likes of to tease me, and taut me, and he tells me I'm no good! He reminds me of all the horrible things I try to forget! And then there's a man named William. He's the worst of them all! He makes me do things that I don't want to do! He tells me to do horrible things, and if I don't do them, he does them for me! One day about a year ago, when I was still in school, he told me to take one of the knives out of the potions room! When I got back to dormitories, he told me to carve 'traitor' into my arm! When I told him I wouldn't do it, he told me to either do it or he'd do it for me! So I did.

You are now the only one who knows this, and I want more to know. You are my last hope! please, I beg of you, please tell the world the truth! I just need you to do this one thing for me, if I'm not around to do it myself.

Desperately yours,

Draco Malfoy.

* * *

I can't believe it! All this time we've called him a traitor, and he's been on our side the whole time. I know just what I have to do. I pick up the pale boy's body; I don't really expect him to be very heavy, but he doesn't weigh much more than a five-year-old child! I take the dead blonde boy, and lay him gentry among the recognizable allies. I arrange his body in a way I think respectful, and I take the letter and leave. I head straight for the daily profit... Tomorrow morning, Draco Malfoy's desperate letter will dawn the front page along with the headline "The War is Over!"


End file.
